Cartoons On TVA Story by Keve
I fell asleep sitting straight up in my old office chair which now sits in Jeri's living room in want of a more permanent place; hands folded in a clumsy mudra, calluses cracked from weather and the wear. Jeri was asleep in her own office chair and there were cartoons on television.
It was sleep or something like sleep, the two of us sitting there while teddy bears taught us our A, B, C, 's in bright colors on the television with the sound turned down. I only know my eyes had rolled back under their upper lids and I was somewhere drifting, vaguely aware of Jeri sitting there and the space between us and her need for space and my need to write. After a short time, I released my mudra slowly and rose from my chair. The room was illuminated by the faint light from the wide-screen; painted with the glow of rainbow teddy bears. I changed into a "less dirty" shirt, masked body odors by Degree, brushed my teeth and ran a brush through my beard.
I left Jeri with a light kiss on the side of her face and said, "Thank you baby." She barely stirred and said nothing. I locked the door on my way out. I pushed my bicycle through the chain-link gate, walked out into the morning and toward the town. It was 7:12 and the sun was rising over Canyon Crest with all its professors and petty bureaucrats. It glinted yellow-rose on the surface of sidewalks and asphalt, painting the grid of the city with cool fire.
I leaned on my bike and walked due
I made my way through the chill and for a moment I was slightly confused and I thought, "I need a short plan," and what came up for me is that I would write. I counted my change. I had enough for a coffee and a ninety-nine cent notebook. These would be my only purchases that day. These things were all I needed to make it through the morning; these and the sunlight. I already had a pen and some tobacco.
This is how I would fill my time, though I would rather have been with her, but I knew when I called her this morning that she was "on her last nerve," as she puts it. There was no need to stress the poor girl any further, but I felt the need to speak someone and so I would speak to the pages of a ninety-nine cent notebook. I would sit at a table at the park and spill some ink. I would use a real pen and real paper and I would make something out of the morning.
I still felt the need to produce; something which remained of the guy I was before my body started its rebellion. I was the guy who was always willing to put in the hours. The guy who put his back into things before he gave his back away. So, in keeping with that tradition, I would start early and use the morning and the power of light to make something which never existed before. I rode down to the park and found the perfect bench. It was the one drenched in warm sunlight the color of honey.
I entered upon the new day. I prepared my attention.
© 2012 Keve
Added on April 9, 2012
Last Updated on April 9, 2012
AboutI am a story teller and I think I always have been so. I am a story teller because I know that stories are important. I know they are important because I see the power that they have. I enjoy telling .. more..